If Virginia Woolf wrote My Immortal
by Virginia Woolf rewrites
Summary: Literary great Virginia Woolf tries to make good Tara Gillesbie's disastrous attempt at a fanfiction. However, only the first five chapters...V didn't feel too well after "translating" Tara's work.
1. Chapter 1

MY IMMORTAL

Chapter One.

 _Author's note: A paws (do you comprehend, because I am Woolf?) to offer my deep and sincere thanks to the dearest lady in my life (quite in the way intended) Vita Sackville-West for the help, the love and the support for writing this; and her help with my grammar. You are my saviour, my heart. Leonard too, you are the love of my one and only life and always will be. My Kitchen Rules (MKR) is delightful._

She stood there, waiting; holding time in her hand. Loving it; yet hating it too. Ebony Dark'ness Darkness Dementia Raven Way, her hair black; as coal, as ebony, (that is how she was named); with streaks of purple; and tips of red, that reached her lower back. Eyes as blue as ice, like the tears of an angel; yet no angel was she; yet known to bear resemblance to Amy Lee ( _Author's note: I have not even the slightest idea who that is, so I should not mention it here!)_. She was a pretender of relation to Gerard Way, and spent her nights yearning with all her body; her heart; her soul that she could have been in union with him. Ebony, the stuff of Bram Stoker, with teeth straighter than the walls of Buckingham Palace, whiter than the marble of some mausoleum. Skin, is whiter than the paper this is written upon; softer than silk, lighter than a cloud on a day of summer sunshine. The most unholy of unholiest, the wicked, the witch, and the attendee of the coven of such types: Hogwarts school; England's finest school for such, where she was in the seventh year. (Seventeen years she has said). She was gothic, Henry James in essence, (in order to be apparent) and wore black; the black of mourning for the thousand losses, the black of winter. The darkness of the soul. Her love, when it appeared, consisted entirely of that vacuous and pretentious habit of spending money at Hot Topic, her Bond Street; her flowers that Mrs. Dalloway bought. Today she stood there, wearing that holdover of Victorianism, repressive to women, yet fashionable: the corset, with lace of the vilest manner; her black miniskirt, her pink fishnets; the black combat boots. An original woman, one of her own mind; one who knew of herself and cared for it. Ebony wore her black lipstick; white foundation, whiter than sugar or salt in a pile; black eyeliner; red eye shadow. She walked now, outside Hogwarts. The snow fell; and yet it rained too; the sun was hidden in the depths of her despair, yet she loved it. Heavens knows why she loved it so; life, living, this moment in time. A number of posers stared; their uninhibited fascination apparent clear. Ebony displayed a gesture of infinite disgrace, he pale hands glinting in the half-light.

"Ebony!" the voice broke the air, she looked up, it was Draco Malfoy; her old friend Draco ―the admirable Draco!

'Draco, where have you been? What has happened?' asked Ebony, rather extravagantly, for they knew each other well.

"Not anything of consequence," he said, shyly.

Ebony was about to add to her remarks, [Blast her friends calling her away!], but she regretfully went, feeling not altogether cheated.

 _Author's note: Does this match the standard set by my previous works? Tell me won't you?_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

 _Author's note: Another warm regard for the help, Vita; for helping me with the previous chapter. Critics, please refrain from your criticism at this time._

The following day she awoke in her bedroom; the snow falling, the rain falling, impossible as that was. Ebony opened the lid of her coffin, and drank the blood of Christ from a little bottle; his tears; his passion. Ebony's coffin was of black too; black for it was composed of ebony, darker than pitch, deeper than a well. Inside the lining was pink; the contrast too terrible for even abstractist movements; the lace at either end blacker than her soul. She sat up and climbed out with relative ease, (she took off her _My Kitchen Rules_ t-shirt; that which she used for pajamas, those curious garments of the bed, those which we lock from sight), and instead she put on her dress of leather (also black); the pentagram necklace; the combat boots; the black fishnets. Her ears she adorned with four pairs of earrings; and put her hair in a bun not quite right.

Ebony, cold; black; cruel; was not alone. She had a true friend; a confidant of the highest degree ( _Author's note: Vita, this is your moment!_ ) who at that moment awoke, and then, grinned warmly at her. It was Willow; her relation in the old days. Willow―that was Ebony's impression—sat there, and flipped her waist-length raven black hair (the pinks streaks clear); her forest-green eyes opening upon the world. She put on her Marilyn Monroe t-shirt; the black miniskirt; the fishnets; the pointy high-heeled boots. Ebony put her makeup on (black lipstick; white foundation; black eyeliner); Willow following suit.

"Oh, you great girl you! I saw you talking to Draco Malfoy yesterday!" she said excitedly.

"And? Well?" Ebony replied, the blush creeping up her face. Oh, it wasn't fair! It was such as shame to be humiliated like this; like running from one's happiness into a granite wall in the dark.

"Do you like Draco?" Willow asked; they passed out of the Slytherin Common Room into the Great Hall.

"No, I most certainly do not!" cried Ebony; her embarrassment at its height. Yet she was thinking: Do I like Draco? Do I? Do I?

"Oh, likely," said Willow, her sarcasm stinging Ebony. Then, who should approach but Draco; his face impassive; his features drawn.

"Hello, Ebony," he said.

"Draco," replied Ebony, her thoughts pounding her brain. (Do I like Draco? Do I? Do I?)

"Can you guess whatever?" he asked.

"Well?" Ebony answered. (Do I like Draco? Do I?)

"Well, that orchestra we enjoy; Grand Elizabeth, are playing in Hogsmeade," he said, watching her face, waiting, like a wolf.

"Oh how heavenly it is!" Ebony exclaimed. She loved GE; loved with passion; with heart; not even the love an author has for her work can compare; not even the love of _My Kitchen Rules_.

"Well," his eyes averted, "will you do me the pleasure of attending?"

Ebony gasped. Yes! her mind screamed; Yes! her heart screamed. Yes! Yes!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

 _Author's note: Please refrain from your criticism. Other than that, a sincere thankyou to the appreciative audience for such favourable reviews. Thankyou again, my dear Vita. Oh, and by the bye; I have no formal ownership of this or the lyrics to Grand Elizabeth._

On the evening of the performance Ebony put on her black lace-up boots with high heels; underneath were the ripped red fishnets, less of a net, and more of a tatter. (The bill for the red dress was fifteen pounds.) She carefully arranged the black leather minidress; taking her time with the corset; the fishnets on her arms. Her hair she straightened; and then spiked, like a whipped meringue. Ebony then felt the invasive feeling, the one she loathed, the cold stream of visual impressions failed her now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china walls unrecorded. The brain must wake now. Ebony opened the big blade of her pocket knife. The red ran; the life poured away; then she read a book guaranteed to depress her, why did she subject herself to the tortures of _The Fault in our Stars_? She read while waiting for the depression to bleed out of her; and while she did so, listened to a gramophone record of the Moonlight sonata. Ebony painted her fingernails black; and replaced the lost eyeliner; the lost lipstick. She did not put foundation on because of her paleness; she drank some more of the blood-red liquid horror; and was at last ready.

Ebony glided outside. There was Draco waiting for her; outside his flying car. He was wearing a simple architect t-shirt; (they were doing an exhibition at the performance); those baggy skater pants; black nail polish; a little eyeliner ill-befitting of the male sex. ( _Author's note: Not that there is anything in any way wrong with that._ ).

"Greetings, Draco," Ebony said, her voice, he noticed, a little lower than usual. He dismissed it as nerves.

"Hello, Ebony," he replied. They walked to his flying Mercedes-Benz (the license plate was a custom: 666); and they flew to the performance hall. On the journey Ebony and Draco listened to another recording of Grand Elizabeth; then Marilyn Monroe. They both smoked cigarettes; for neither had expensive cigars, drugs being the modern thing to do. On arrival, they turned their attention to the front row seating; and enjoyed themselves tremendously. This, Ebony thought, was the most fun she'd had in years.

"You approached me warm, covered in that silk dress,

My love so happy, I do profess,

The doctor cannot tell, neither your mother;

Why I am you delighted lover!" sang Billy ( _Authors note: I don't own the moral rights to that song; despite Leonard's best efforts._ )

"Billy―why is he such a dream? Why?" Ebony asked Draco, pointing at him as he sung; filling the hall with the musical deliria that was his soulful voice.

Draco, to Ebony's embarrassment, looked momentarily upset; his eyes wet.

"What's wrong?" she asked, trying to pretend that she hadn't seen it; the music still played on, unobtrusively. Then she gave in, for she knew what caused him pain. The minutes beat past faster than the music; those tunes which play til the end of time; the time passing.

"Draco, my dearest, it's all fine. I don't care for him as much as you," Ebony said. She looked at him; looked with those icy eyes which for the first time held a glimmer of warmth, real warmth; as if a candle were held to them, and drips melted. (Do I like Draco? I do! I do!)

"Really?" asked Draco, his eyes clearing; his face lighting. Ebony noticed his arm slip protectively around her; closing her in a comforting embrace; a soft one.

Really," she said. "Besides, I haven't even met Billy; and he's already practically married to that Alexis Roderick woman; I have no regard for her whatsoever." Ebony finished; disgust written on her face, like a painting by Rembrandt.

The evening passed without further incident; and Ebony began to feel at last like she could finally enjoy herself. Draco, she noticed, appeared the same way, despite those tense moments. Those minutes; those hours; those years. After the performance, she drank some beer with him; relishing the closeness; relishing the moments. She asked Billy for his autograph, a sentimental thing, to be sure; but one she felt she could not pass on. Ebony purchased Grand Elizabeth t-shirts, to celebrate (the bill was two pounds.) Draco and Ebony crawled back into his car; but Draco took a different turning, not to Hogwarts; instead, to the Forbidden Forest.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four.

 _Author's note: I might remind the readership that I do not appreciate criticism so early on. Ebony is Ebony, not Mary—who suggested that? Draco is actually in love with her; that is his choice. The passion is unequalled._

~~~~~six~~~~

"Draco!" she cried. "Whatever are you doing?" (Do I love Draco?)

Draco-his stubbornness apparent—remained silent. He stopped the car; then, walking slowly, went away. Ebony, her curiosity aroused, followed like a little lamb.

"What are you doing?" she cried, white and upset.

"Ebony?" he turned his sad eyes at her.

"Whatever is it? Take me home at once!" Ebony was surprised; scared; angered [How dare he do this to her!]

Draco, his pain in view, approached her and looked at her. She; chest heaving, anger raging, returned the gaze into his red eyes. The contacts were immensely disturbing; and this did not help her mood. Yet, she looked deeper; she willed herself to look away; yet she looked deeper. The eyes; oh those eyes! How much depression, how much sorrow can one person's eyes reveal? Strangely, Ebony's anger disappeared at the eyes. (She became sad.)

Then Draco; her sweetest Draco; he leaned in and kissed her. Ebony closed her eyes. The answer came at last: Yes, (she thought) I do love Draco. I do; I do. Draco leaned in further, the love closer; Ebony thought: Yes! Yes, I love him.

Draco made her feel love; real love. Love like she had not experienced ever before: a thousand butterflies flew at her approach, a thousand song birds performed their sweet melody.

Ebony, her heart pounding, finally loved; and was loved.

Then, when her communication with this boy was at its height; a horrid, awful cry broke the air.

"Whatever is happening? Stop that at once! Stop, I say!"

There stood Dumbledore, his anger flashing like lightning; the rage of the storm whirling around them.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five.

 _Author's note: Please, refrain from your criticisms. I am Virginia Woolf, trying to resurrect this horror story that not even Henry James would touch with a ten-foot pole. The only reason Dumbledore appears like this is because of an affliction of the brain [and they were having inappropriate intercourse]. According to Tara, I ought to not be updating unless I receive; and I quote "five good revoiws!"_

Dumbledore, that sturdy force whose presence was known everywhere, bade Draco and Ebony follow him. He could not contain his fury; it was unbridled, and he unleashed all the frustrations that even God himself would quake at.

"You fools!" spite rang from his enragement.

Ebony could not contain her emotion any longer; the love; the sweetness; it was all ruined by this. Draco; amiable and kind, comforted her. She knew love now; loved life; loved Draco Malfoy.

Dumbledore took them to Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall; both of them were angry.

Dumbledore, sparing no details, filled the two professors in on the occurrence. Perhaps he supposed they would share in his anger; join his condemnation? (They did; for their sins.)

"How dare you?" demanded Professor Snape.

Draco, the noble Draco; the Don Quixote of this story; the heroic knight in Ebony's dark, ridiculous and somewhat badly written life; saved her with a swoop of his sword. "I love her!" he cried.

Ebony swooned. (He loves me! He loves me really! Oh heavenly union! O blessed day!)

The silence was deafening; the room was clear. Dumbledore; that force; and the other professors glared; yet a mild sympathy overcame Professor Snape. He, sighing with an manner most unlike him, bade them return to their rooms.

Draco, and his swooning cohort mounted the stairs.

"Are you alright, my sweet?" he enquired; Ebony smiled. (He loves me! He loves me!)

"Yes, my dear," she replied. Yet, she lied. She could not let him see her pain; the pain of the union being broken. The pain welled inside her and beat her chest; she wanted to take his lips on hers again; to jump into eternity through that window beside them. Yet she could not. The world would not miss them; life would not miss them. Heavens know why one loved it so.

Ebony parted with her heart. She brushed her teeth and changed her clothes (Why do I carry on as if nothing has changed? Why do I carry on living although the world has torn apart around me? Her thoughts whirled around and around.)

She came out of the room.

Draco was standing there; waiting for her, like a gentleman. He began to sing a love song whose words were more powerful than any speech; more powerful than any Act of Parliament; more powerful than her beating heart. Ebony was flatters, Ebony was stunned. He was not meant to be there yet he cared nothing for rules! He loved her; and that was enough.

She hugged; she kissed.

Then, her heart touched, they parted; once more to return to coldness that enveloped them; the coldness called reality.


End file.
